i'm finished, i'm finished!
by Twins 'n Fandoms
Summary: A silly side-fic featuring a very worn-out Lin-Manuel Miranda pestered by the ghost of a historical figure late in the night. (Happens in bettyslilcrazy22's Watching Themselves fic!)


**Just a really silly fic-let involving bettyslilcrazy22's Watching Themselves. **

**So, they speak in a really different way than in the actual 'fic themselves. I hope you don't mind.**

**This idea came when I was browsing through my ol' Hamil-memes and I stumbled upon this tweet:**

_**Ghost of Hamilton: WAKE UP**_

_**Me (LMM): I finished it I finished it**_

_**Ghost of Hamilton: Oh yeah sorry go back to sleep**_

**Hope you enjoy! Ignore my mistakes, I'm a lil' sick rn. Hope it also turns out alright**

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Disclaimer: Oh please, if I even made Hamilton, could you have imagined how horrible it would've been? No! It's too horrific beyond imagination.

Also, you know how the earth has been around for 4.5 billion years right? Do you know how extremely lucky I am to be alive at the same time as Lin-Manuel Miranda? I'd never in a million years have anybody else write Hamilton.

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"Psst."

"Go away," mumbled a man as he turned around in his bed.

_"Psst."_

"Look man, it's one of the few times I get to sleep, so can you _just _go and come back later?" The Puerto Rican mumbled as he hid under the covers, hoping to block out the persistent sound disturbing his sleep.

He thought it would've deterred the person waking him up _for just a few seconds _when two things happened at once.

One, his blanket was ripped away from him.

Two, a loud voice thundered right in his ear: "_WAKE UP!"_

All at once, the poor man sat up as if he was electrified, his heart hammering out of his ribcage with a shriek of surprise, his hand clutching his heart and his eyes wide as it focused on the figure standing in front of him.

_Oh my God, there's a robber in my apartment _was his only coherent thought as he began to shout for help.

Then, he noticed the man was_ floating._

_Wait, what?_

A rare shade of blue-violet eyes stared at him across his bed.

"Have you finished, sir?" The spirit drilled him as it floated closer and closer to him.

"'m I dreamin'?" He asked in a groggy state.

"I assure you sir, I am not a mirage nor a dream," The man replied curtly. "I only need to know whether you have or have not finished your work?"

His synapses lined up and fired all at once.

So.

He wasn't actually dreaming the first two nights it appeared. And if it wasn't a dream, that meant—

"You're Alexander Hamilton," The man blurted out.

"Yes, yes, but you knew that," The spirit said impatiently. "I am only here to know whether you have finished or not."

"I finished it, I finished it," the playwright said lamely as he settled back in his bed, picking up the covers from the floor tensely.

The ghost blinked. Oh right, the man had already affirmed it two nights in the same row. "Ah, yes. Pardon me, good sir," the ghost apologized. "You can go back into a deep and well-deserved slumber."

"Thank you," the man's muffled voice came from under the blanket as he wrapped it tighter around himself.

Alexander Hamilton profusely apologized _again _as the tired man muttered unintelligibly, willing himself to sleep even with the very loud voice of the ten-dollar founding father without a father.

"Please, Mr. Hamilton," he said in a half-asleep voice. "Can I go to sleep now?"

The ghost blinked. "I'm sorry once more, Mr. Miranda," he said sincerely. "Have a good night's rest."

With that, the ghost glided out of Lin-Manuel Miranda's room without a sound, leaving no trace that he'd ever been there.

Putting all his thoughts to rest, Lin tried to dose off as the peaceful silence entered the atmosphere once more.

Closing his eyes, he almost managed to successfully sleep when his blankets were ripped away from him _again_.

He sat up again fast, yelling, "I'M UP, I'M UP, I'M UP!" with his eyes still trying to refocus themselves.

"Mr. Hamilton, can we please discuss this later?" He pleaded as he rubbed his eyes, trying to calm down his racing heart from surprise once again.

"I am _not _Alexander Hamilton, and I'd appreciate it if you did not mistake that man for _me," _sneered the six-feet-and-two-inches of faintly glowing and _floating spirit _glowering at him.

"Mr. Miranda," Thomas Jefferson said in a dangerously quiet voice. "Let's just say I heard from one of my colleagues that somebody had talked about me in a less-than-pleasing way."

Lin clamped his pillow over his ears with a groan as he flopped back down.

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**It's not high quality, but I hope it's good enough. Sorry, Betty.**

**Press F for respects for Lin.**

**—Louise**


End file.
